


Sharp and Sweet

by Koren M (CyberMathWitch)



Series: The Weight of Us [7]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Language, F/M, Headaches & Migraines, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberMathWitch/pseuds/Koren%20M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna">Anuna</a> <i> Migraine. And what to do about it.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharp and Sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/gifts).



> Thanks to [Kade](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kadollan) for the quick and dirty beta! And thank you to all the wonderful people on the [Good Ship Grease Smudge and Rope!fic](http://be-compromised.livejournal.com/) who are making this prompt-a-thon so much fun!!!

Things like walls and doors and corners and chairs don't seem to be quite where they should be, or rather she's not quite where she thinks she is in relation to them. Her sense of spacial orientation is fucked and that's her first warning sign. The second is the building pressure inside her head and behind her eyes, combined with the tender feeling sinking into her muscles that slows down her movements and makes her feel brittle. The third is the tension that creeps up her back, across her shoulders and up her neck. Sometimes it feels like she's being wound too tight, other days it feels like claws that dig in and pull too far. It edges up to meet the pressure and turns it into pain.

She's just coming off a mission, and she's been shoving those alarms aside through sheer force of will in order to finish the job and get the intel. She's played the pretty party guest, charmed the host, and gotten into his computer system just like she was supposed to. It's not until she sinks into the seat of the SHIELD car next to Clint that she lets go. She knows it will get worse because she's been fighting it for so long. Eyes closed, she hears him giving instructions to the driver: a street corner several blocks from one of their bolt-holes rather than SHIELD HQ. The driver argues, and she has to imagine the look Clint's probably just given him when he cuts off his protests abruptly. A bottle of cold water is pressed into her hand and she fumbles with the lid. Her fine motor coordination is well and truly shot by now - Clint has to take the bottle back to open it for her. 

"Here," he whispers near her ear and she feels the rim of the bottle against her lips. The water is cold and shocks her system, but she drinks as much as she can. He's running a hand gently along the back of her neck - she wants to lean into his touch but it's too much and so she nudges him away. He's done this before and knows the drill, it won't hurt his feelings. Instead he transfers his hand to her thigh where he gently massages the muscles there. Pressure that would be too painful at her neck is a blessed relief on her legs. 

"How did you know?" she asks, annoyed that her voice catches slightly.

"Little things. You nearly dropped the key-card. And your eyes, just for a second. They couldn't tell." She doesn't know if he means the marks or the other SHIELD agents monitoring the Op - probably both. The car slows to a stop. Clint leans over and keeps his voice low. "Can you stand up okay?"

"Yeah." He reaches across her body and unlatches the door which she has to hold onto the door while he gets out after her. He slides his arm around her in what looks like a companionable gesture, but she gratefully uses him to balance. She knows anyone passing them on their walk to the apartment will assume a couple who've had a bit too much, and that's ok.

The car drives away, and Clint makes sure it's out of sight before they start the three block walk to their place. SHIELD probably knows they have one nearby, but they'd rather not broadcast the specific address if they can help it. The pain has increased into nausea territory and she's mostly letting him guide her while her eyes are tightly closed against the motion and the streetlights. The walk is hell, but they make it to the building and he lets her lean against the wall long enough to key his code into the door. Then, instead of having her walk up the stairs, he scoops her up into his arms to carry her.

"Easy," he says, voice soft and close. "We're almost there." 

The headaches aren't this bad very often anymore. It's rare for one to crop up on a mission - it's been years in fact, because she's careful and usually prepared. Before SHIELD, before Clint, she would get out of whatever situation she was in, then crawl (sometimes literally, the ones in the before-time had been much, much worse) into the smallest, darkest space she could find to wait for it to pass. Just another lovely side effect of all the rewiring the Red Room did to her head and her constant attempts to fight it. This mission had taken longer than she'd intended and she'd pushed herself past her limits in more ways than one. 

"Bath or bed?" he asks her once he gets the door open and carries her through.

She's too far gone for a hot bath to help, so she chooses the bed and he lays her gently on it, then makes sure all the blinds and curtains are drawn. It might be nighttime, but in New York City that rarely means true darkness. The thin glow from the door is enough for him to see to help strip off her clothes, which he does quickly and precisely rather than lingering over her. 

Once she's naked, she rolls gingerly onto her left hip, and digs her fingers into the blankets. He pinches the skin a few times then holds it before sliding the needle in, so all she feels is the ibuprofen itself as it burns it's way through her veins. His hand ghosts over her back and she lets herself turn over so the apartment's cool air can reach her sweaty skin.

He leaves the room for a few minutes and she thinks she hears him on the phone, trying to be quiet but making it clear they won't be going anywhere tonight and the goddamn debrief can wait until the morning. The click of the phone flipping closed echoes.

"I need-" she starts, but he's already back, joining her on the bed. The sweet sharp smell of peppermint reaches her and she thinks she probably sighs in relief just from that, even though it's not on her skin yet.

It's a trick she picked up in England, from a scientist SHIELD had assigned her to protect. There he'd used crystalized menthol, sold in little plastic domes, but in the states it was easier to get the essential oil made from peppermint since aromatherapy was all the rage. Clint's fingers rub the oil onto her temples, just below her cheekbones, and the pulse points behind her ears and down the sides of her neck, always careful to avoid her eyes. Seconds tick past on the clock as she starts to feel the gentle burn. Sometimes she swears she can literally feel the constricted blood vessels opening up. If nothing else, it's a distraction as it fires the nerves on her skin and overwhelms the others sending pain signals to her brain. The body can only process so many sensations at one time, after all.

"Better?" he asks and she nods. He goes back to kneading the muscles in her legs now, gently but deeply, trying to activate enough circulation in the rest of her body to help reduce the swelling and pain. When even that gets to be too much she grabs his wrist and pulls him to her, asking him without words to come up beside her and wrap her up in his arms. Once they're settled, he lies perfectly still while the silence of the room and the gradually receding pain lulls her to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Please note - NOT AN MD. This is personal anecdotal experience, not recommendation. Ahem.
> 
> Both my Mom and I have had migraines for years, and back in the nineties we found these lovely things imported from England called "Menthol Domes" - they were literally what they sound like, domes of crystalized menthol on a plastic base, and they were a god send. Best we can figure, the menthol (the active ingredient from mint plants that makes peppermint sharp and cool) both helped open up the surface blood vessels (thus reducing the pressure) and also overloaded the senses, which will at least temporarily distract from the pain. 
> 
> You can't get them in the states anymore, but you can get peppermint essential oil which does the same thing. Most people I know find the straight oil too strong for them and mix it with other things, but I just use it right out of the bottle. It's the only way I've found to function on those days when I have a bad one but still have to go to work or do whatever. I literally keep some with me all the time, because migraines (even if you have someone like Clint to help take care of you) suck.


End file.
